


No Two Flames are Alike

by Laiquilasse



Series: How to Court an Omega [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Birth, Labour, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Sherlock, Pregnant Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-08-31 23:10:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8597437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laiquilasse/pseuds/Laiquilasse
Summary: Sherlock is almost due. John is taking it in his stride, but Sherlock is a bag of nerves. And although they have everything planned out, when has anything ever been straightforward for these two?Last installment of this series.





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock came out of the bathroom, his towel tucked under his stomach, hair wet, expression murderous.

John didn’t make eye contact, keeping his book raised as if he hadn’t noticed his pregnant mate waddling through the room in search of clothes.

“Are you going to help me, or not?” Sherlock snapped, folding his arms as he tried, and failed, to pick something off the floor.

John picked up the cotton trousers, and Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the ceiling as John helped him put them on.

“Thank you,” Sherlock muttered, pulling them up over his thighs as he stood. He started to towel his hair, and John stole a look at his belly whilst his head was covered.

Low.

Sherlock’s breathing was easier, today. He could move a little easier, too.

It was going to be soon.

John tidied his book away as Sherlock pulled a pyjama top on, then decided to speak. “Your bump’s pretty low, Sherlock.”

“Low?” Sherlock put his hands on it.

“Yes…” John chose his words carefully. “That means it’ll be time, soon.”

Sherlock’s eyes went wide. “But – but she can’t. She’s not due for another nine days.”

John nodded. “I know, but she’s dropped – she’s moving into position, Sherlock, she’s ready. Sadly, she won’t work to a schedule.”

“But…” Sherlock looked at himself. “I…”

“It’s ok,” John said brightly. “Your bag’s packed, so is hers… We’re ready.”

“But it’s too soon.”

“She’s not premature, Sherlock, she’ll be more than fine.”

“I mean it’s too soon for me,” Sherlock said, blushing. He screwed his face up slightly, as if fighting off tears. “I – I thought I had another week…”

“It’s only a week,” John went around the bed and sat next to his mate, taking his hand. “What did you have planned?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Just… normal stuff.”

“You haven’t done cases for a few weeks,” John reminded him. Lestrade put his foot down once Sherlock reached thirty-five weeks and started needing to pee every hour on the hour. “Were you going to –”

“Not just me,” Sherlock muttered. “Us. We.”

“We?”

“We… we could have had a last week of… just us.” Sherlock blushed deeper, and looked away. John could see the faded red bite-mark on his neck, and a surge of protectiveness swelled inside him.

“Hey,” he cuddled Sherlock close, around the chest, avoiding touching his baby bump. “This isn’t the end of us as a couple, you know. We’ll still be in love. Just with an extra person, too. Whom we’ll both love.”

Sherlock leaned on John’s shoulder. “But we won’t be able to… we won’t be the same. I’ll be all milk, and fat, and  - ”

“You,” John turned to take Sherlock’s face in his hands, “will be the most beautiful mother there has ever been. I will love you in exactly the same way, because you’re my mate, and I loved you before we even bonded, Sherlock. And you know what?”

“What?” Sherlock shook off John’s hands.

“I’m scared, too.”

Sherlock’s lower lip stuck out. “I never said I was scared.”

“You didn’t have to,” John stroked up Sherlock’s thigh, from knee to the curve of his bump. He placed a hand on the warmth, feeling the smallest movement beneath his touch. “I think you’re incredible. And you can do this, Sherlock. You can, I promise you. And nothing will change between us, unless it’s for the better.”

Sherlock let out a broken sigh, then. “I don’t know what to _do_.”

“You went to the antenatal classes.”

“Yes, but it was all so vague,” Sherlock lay back on the mattress, wincing before turning onto his side, hand under his bump. “Push when you feel a pain, but not before a midwife tells you, and consider pain relief and…” he sighed again, a great gust of emotion. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I promise you it’s instinct,” John lay down too, kissing Sherlock on the nose. “Just like a heat – you don’t really control what you do, do you?”

“I suppose.”

“And I’ll be there. If you want me,” John added.

“Of course I want you there. Who else am I going to have? Mummy? Mycroft?”

“Some omegas don’t like their alphas there,” John smiled. “But I want to be, if it’s ok. I want to see her born.”

“Uh, you’re staying near my head,” Sherlock fake-sicked. “I don’t need you picturing _that_ every time we have sex from now on.”

John rolled his eyes. “Sherlock, I’m a doctor. I’ve seen worse than that.”

“Then please keep it to yourself.” Sherlock closed his eyes. “I’m hungry again.”

“Toast?” John kissed that cute nose again.

“With Nutella.”

“And hot chocolate?”

“With milk.” Sherlock smiled, keeping his eyes closed. “I’ll admit I have enjoyed this side of being pregnant… you running around after me.”

“It’s not likely to change, either,” John called from the kitchen. “You know that?”

Sherlock didn’t reply, but John could see him arranging his pillows in order to receive his snack in bed. The young omega looked glowing and healthy, his body curved and soft with pregnancy. Sherlock’s hips had widened, and his chest had gone slightly puffy along with the roundness of his belly. It would snap back to how it was before; he was young and fit. And they couldn’t be having another baby in a hurry. Though John had adored the changes Sherlock had undergone. He was never in love with his mate simply for how he looked, and he knew that, now. It was deeper than that – more honest.

Longer-lasting.

And about to get slightly bigger.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John are both bored and ready... so where is their baby?

Sherlock got moodier and moodier over the next two days, grousing over everything and nothing. He spent a lot of time in the baby’s room, folding and refolding her tiny clothes, wiping invisible dust from the windowsill, and moving the Moses basket beside his and John’s bed back and forth, changing the angle a dozen times until he sat on the bed and cried because it looked all wrong.

John tried to stay reasonable, comforting his mate who seemed in genuine distress over nothing. He made Sherlock hot chocolate, and stroked his back, and hovered over him in what was probably quite an annoying way, but Sherlock didn’t tell him to go away.

“I’m so bored,” Sherlock groaned, heaving himself off the sofa, hands to his lower back. “I thought you said _soon_.”

“She might not agree with my definition of _soon_ ,” John said fairly, watching Sherlock waddle to the fridge, open it, and close it again.

“I might go and –”

“Don’t start tidying again,” John sighed. “You’ve nested good and proper, Sherlock. We’re ready. It’s just a case of… waiting.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, hands moving to the front of his bump. “I’m going to have a bath.”

“Ok,” John closed his book. “Want me to run it for you?”

“Please.” Sherlock went back to the fridge, this time taking out a bunch of grapes. “No bubbles.”

John kissed his mate’s cheek as he went past, into the bathroom to start running a bath. Sherlock might fall asleep if he bathed – he’d had a midday nap yesterday, sleeping peacefully on the sofa, hand on his bump, until he woke up irritated that his body had betrayed him in such a way.

“Is it done yet?” Sherlock appeared in the doorway, in only his pants. In the last week, his body had finally succumbed to stretch-marks; five tiny jagged lines running outward from his navel like sunbeams. John rather liked them, though he’d caught Sherlock trying to pinch his skin back together in the mirror, mouth turned down in sadness.

“Yep,” John turned the taps off. “Want a drink whilst you’re in?”

“No, thank you,” Sherlock huffed out a breath as he shoved his pants down, kicking them in the direction of the laundry. “Uh…” he leaned on the sink for a moment. “I miss being able to bend.”

“Not be long.”

“Mm…” Sherlock looked pointedly at the door.

“See you later,” John said. “Don’t fall asleep in the bath.”

“As if.”

John went out, and listened to the groaning and splashing of Sherlock getting into the bath by himself, then squeaking as he settled in the tub. John smiled to himself, and started tidying up Sherlock’s baby books and half-drunk glasses of water. Sherlock wasn’t the only one getting impatient. John’s nerves were shot – every morning he woke up expecting to find Sherlock in labour beside him, but there’d only been silence. Their official due date was the next day, and it looked as though the omega would go overdue, despite John’s earlier prediction.

 

*

 

Sherlock shifted in the bath, his aches softening a little. He closed his eyes and swayed a fraction, letting the water wash over his bump, back and forth, as the baby inside stretched against the warmth, and dug her head further down, making Sherlock tense in pain.

“Ouch,” he whispered to himself. He frowned at his stomach. He’d been having mild pains for the past two days. John assured him they were nothing to get worried about. Except the baby seemed to love pressing her head down, and that made pain radiate out through Sherlock’s pelvis and back. The warm bathwater helped, at least.

The omega kept his eyes open as he stared at the opposite wall. He’d read the baby books over and over, until they were memorised. He knew how to change a nappy, how to bath a baby, how to try and get one to feed.

But Sherlock had no idea how to love a baby.

The antenatal classes they’d been to have been full of couples talking about how much their already loved their foetus, and Sherlock had scoffed – how could you love someone you’d never met? Some of the ridiculous couples had even named their unborn offspring, and not just a pet name – a proper name they would bestow on the thing forever.

Sherlock had toyed with a few names, but he was happy to leave that up to John.

He put a wet hand over where he knew the baby’s feet were – wedged up in his ribcage, as usual – and felt her respond to the warm touch. Would she do that once she was out? Turn at every touch? Would she know Sherlock was her mother?

Would she be an omega, like him?

Sherlock hoped not. He wanted her to be a beta, and avoid all of that nonsense.

He shifted in the water again, humming as the weight of his body and the water made it difficult. The ache came back, accompanied by shivers, despite the warm water. He’d have to get out, soon.

Maybe he should just go to bed –

Sherlock sat up, eyes going wide.

A thin ribbon of blood snaked through the bathwater.

He reached down between his legs, and touched at his entrance. More blood loosed into the water, this time with a film of what looked like omega slick, but not quite.

Sherlock went very still.

A knock came at the door.

“You ok?” John voice called. “Want anything?”

“I’m fine,” Sherlock said, convincingly. “Just getting out.” And he pulled the plug, vanishing the bloody evidence before John could see.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is in denial, and John is suspicious

Sherlock went into the bedroom, and John could hear him opening and closing drawers. Probably looking for the exact perfect pair of pyjamas to lounge about in. The bathroom door opened and closed again, and John rolled his eyes. Sherlock had to pee every fifteen minutes these days. A flush, and the groaning of the taps, and then the door opened and closed once more into the bedroom.

John turned on the kettle. Hot chocolate might relax his mate. He measured out the spoons of mixture, and listened to Sherlock flumping about. The sooner this baby was born, the better.

 

*

 

Sherlock shook his head, sticking an absorbent pad to his underwear and pulling them up high to hide the crackling noise before he put his pyjama bottoms on. The bleeding was still coming, in thick strings of clot that were disgusting to look at. He’d had to run to the toilet, and a great mess had fallen from his insides, making him silently panic. He’d taken out his phone and immediately searched for the reason why this was happening.

 

**Loss of Mucus Plug / Bloody Show**

**Occurring during labour, pregnant individuals may experience a loss of blood and mucus that is initially frightening. Individuals are encouraged to tell their midwife. Bloody shows are not a determiner of labour being particularly advanced, and may occur at any time during the process.**

 

Sherlock had put his phone away, and staggered back into the bedroom.

This was it, then. He squeezed his eyes shut, and covered his face as he sat on the bed. He wasn’t getting any real pains, yet. Well, there was that cramping ache, but he’d been having that for days. If this blood thing wasn’t an indicator of things being close, there was no need to tell John. He’d only fuss and worry and make Sherlock panic.

Sherlock pulled on John’s thick dressing gown to cover the pad noise (and the scent of blood), and walked sheepishly back into the lounge, sitting awkwardly on the sofa.

“You ok?” John brought him a cup of something. Chocolate.

Sherlock’s stomach rolled. “Just tired.”

“You look shattered,” John touched his head. “You have a nice bath?”

“The water was nice,” Sherlock said, wishing he was still in it. Outside of the weightlessness of the water, he felt clumpy and awkward. He shifted, feeling another ache start just above his public bone, and spread outwards over his bump. He bit his tongue rather than show any pain.

“Maybe you’d like a water birth?” John took his usual seat in the armchair. “Did you think about that?”

“Doesn’t – sound – hygenic,” Sherlock coughed to hide the end of the pain. Was he supposed to be timing it? They mentioned timing things at the antenatal class. Was it the pains, or the time between the pains?

John frowned. “You ok, Sherlock? Does something hurt?”

“No,” Sherlock lied. “Stop pestering me.”

“Ok,” John held his hands up. “Just talk to me, ok?”

“I will do,” Sherlock said, curling onto his side.

 

*

 

John sat up in bed, listening to Sherlock brushing his teeth. He heard him wretch a few times, and a nag grew at the back of his mind. Sherlock had acted strange all evening, curled up on the sofa, grumbling and barely speaking, not eating, only drinking sips of water…

Surely the omega couldn’t be in labour… no one could stay quiet through that. John had seen the films, read the books, and he knew from his medical training days that anyone having a baby was loud, no matter their gender. Sherlock must be getting ready. This might be their last full night’s sleep for a while…

Sherlock came out, shuffling awkwardly and quickly, getting into bed with a hiss and a groan.

“You want a cuddle?” John asked gently?

“No,” Sherlock snapped, bundling the covers around himself. “Stick to your side.”

“Alright, Mr Bossy,” John turned his bedside light off. “Goodnight.”

“Night.”

 

*

 

Sherlock didn’t sleep a wink. He lay still, grinding his teeth, biting the bedclothes every time one of those stupid aches started. They couldn’t be proper labour pains. They felt too much like the pains you got at the start of a heat. They were nowhere near bad enough to wake John, who would fuss, or to ring the hospital, who would probably patronise Sherlock, and tell him to take a paracetamol.

He stayed on his side until he could no longer stand it, finally sneaking out of bed, and leaving John asleep. He staggered through to the kitchen, giving in to the aching pain and helping himself to two paracetamol from the cupboard, washing them down with water.

The drugs hit his empty stomach and fizzed, frothing up his throat horribly, so Sherlock had to sick them up in the sink as quietly as he could. He rinsed his mouth out, and considered waking John, then saw the time.

2:30am.

He shook his head, pulling his dressing gown close, and walking up the stairs to the baby’s room, where the exercise ball he had used for a handful of weeks before getting bored of it had been put.

Sherlock balanced himself on the ball, rocking his hips back and forth, side to side, somewhat surprised at the relief the movement offered, like stretching a pulled muscle. He snorted. Hardly labour, then, if simply rolling on a ball could make him feel better.

“You’re a menace,” he whispered to the baby, who dug her head down onto his cervix in response, making him groan.

 

*

 

John started in his sleep, worry making him come to.

“Sherlock?” he reached across the bed, and touched the empty space. “Sherlock?” John scrubbed at his eyes, sitting up. “Oh, shit. Sherlock!”

He pelted out of bed, into the kitchen, noting the open paracetamol pack, and the wet glass. He was still here…

Upstairs.

John called up the steps, voice low in the way your voice is in the small hours of the morning. “Sherlock?”

“John…” came a pained reply.

John jogged up the stairs, pushing the door open gently, trying to hide the rising panic he felt. Sherlock needed him to be calm. Needed to be kept calm himself. “Hey.”

“Mm,” Sherlock nodded from his position on the ball. “Just got a bit of… pain.”

John nodded, inhaling deeply, tasting the scents of blood and sweat and omega slick in the air. He tried not to focus on the blood smell, and instead knelt down beside Sherlock, touching his knee. “Good thinking, getting on your ball.”

“It’s just taking the edge off.”

John nodded. “Do you want me to ring the hospital?”

“I don’t think it’s bad enough,” Sherlock sighed.

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m not screaming,” Sherlock huffed out a laugh.

“True,” John crossed his legs. “Want me to get you anything?”

“No,” Sherlock almost smiled. “Just stay here. Talk to me?”

John smiled, pulling one of the pink baby blankets around himself to keep warm. “I love you, you know?”

“Yeah,” Sherlock rocked back and forth again. “I know.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's labour continues, and he tells John a few of his worries.

Sherlock fell asleep on the floor around 4am, hunched on his side, covered with the baby blankets John had piled over him. The rock on the ball seemed to have stayed off the worst of the pains, and at Sherlock’s reassurance that he could certainly feel the baby moving, John had suggested he try and get some sleep.

John stroked his mate’s hair, and wished he could relax enough to join him in this snatch of sleep. The sun was beginning to make itself known through the curtains, and he guessed it was around six in the morning when Sherlock woke up with a groan, bringing his knees up to his chest, and wincing.

“Hey,” John lay down next to him. “Started again?”

“Mm…” Sherlock blew out his breath through his mouth, like the antenatal classes had told him. “Hurts a bit more… now.”

“Want me to ring the hospital?”

“You – fuck – need to time them,” Sherlock sat up, looking mildly distressed. “They’ll ask – ow. Ow, ow, it’s not stopping…” he leaned over on all fours, gritting his teeth and making an animalistic groaning sound John had never heard before.

John started automatically rubbing Sherlock’s back, but the omega swatted him away.

“It’s not my back that hurts, idiot.”

“Ok,” John said, more calmly than he felt. “What can I –”

“Bath,” Sherlock puffed out another breath. “Hot bath. Well. Warm. Please.”

John kissed Sherlock’s head, and ran down to the bathroom, washing the tub out quickly, and starting the taps again before going back upstairs to find Sherlock standing, leaning over a chest of drawers, legs wide apart in what would normally have been an erotic position, but right now screamed _omega in pain_.

“Are you timing?” Sherlock snapped.

 _I was running your bath!_ “Yes,” John opened the app on his phone. “I’m doing it, you just… carry on.”

“Carry on?!”

“Sorry, Sherlock, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say.”

“Then don’t say –” Sherlock cut off to make a face, gesturing at John to start the timer.

John did so, hitting the button again when Sherlock relaxed, noticing the timer still ran. It was clearly doing time between contractions, too. Clever.

“Let’s get you downstairs,” John let Sherlock take his arm. “Ok, we’ll go nice and slowly…”

Sherlock just nodded, a tear escaping for the first time as he let John lead him down the steps and through the flat to the bathroom, where the water was only halfway up the tub.

“Uhhhh…..” Sherlock groaned, leaning on the sink, and John pressed his timer buttons again.

“I really think I should ring the hospital,” John said, as the time between contractions showed up at 04:38 minutes.

“Whatever,” Sherlock covered his face.

“Sherlock, have you had a show?” John tried to catch his eye. “You need to tell me, because they will ask.”

“I…” Sherlock went red. “Yes.”

“When?”

“Last night. About… eight. Or nine.”

John resisted the urge to scream. “Sherlock… Ok. That’s… right, I have to call them.”

“I’ll stay here, shall I?” Sherlock joked, weakly.

John left the door open, and dialled the birthing unit at the hospital he and his mate were under. The phone was answered on the second ring.

“Hello, Maternity Unit?”

“Hello, my mate is having contractions four minutes apart, and he lost his mucus plug around ten hours ago and he seems to be struggling with pain,” John reeled off.

“And what is your mate’s name?”

“Sherlock Watson-Holmes.”

“Omega, aged nineteen, is that right?”

“Yes,” John seethed, wondering why they hadn’t dispatched an army of midwives and a fleet of ambulances five seconds ago.

“Is Sherlock there for me to speak to?”

“Yes.” John marched back into the bathroom, where Sherlock had switched off the taps and planted himself in the bathtub. “They want to speak to you,” he held the phone out.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Hello? … Yes, thirty-nine weeks… I’m not sure… On a scale of one to ten? About five? Like a forced-heat pain.” He blushed, and John looked away. “… My mate is here, he’s a doctor… I’m in the bath, if you must know… Ok. Bye.” He put the phone down.

“Well?” John gasped.

Sherlock shrugged, closing his eyes after handing the handset back. “They don’t think I need to go in quite yet.”

“What?!”

Sherlock swished the water over his bump. “Ow. They want me to be further along… ow!” he flapped at John to do the timings, again, but John had closed the app, and by the time he opened it again, it was over. “Oh, fuck.” Sherlock washed more water over his bump. “Even when it’s not a contraction, it hurts. Is that normal?”

“I think so,” John closed the toilet lid and sat on the seat. “Do you want anything to eat or drink?”

Sherlock shook his head.

They were quiet for a while, then, Sherlock only raising his hand for John to do the timings, and John obeying. The time between contractions dropped to 03:56 minutes.

“I don’t like this,” Sherlock said suddenly.

“I can imagine.”

“I don’t mean being in labour,” Sherlock said sadly. “Although it isn’t exactly a picnic. I mean... the circumstances.”

John looked up. “You… you’re bonded, that’s meant to be the safest time to get pregnant?”

“I know that,” the omega swayed, letting water run over his bump again. “But how this happened.”

John’s little smile fell. “You mean with Mycroft?”

Sherlock’s answer was delayed by a contraction, which left him whimpering in the water until he regained the power of speech. “No, not Mycroft… him.”

“Magnussen?”

Sherlock nodded.

John stared.

“I know what we were doing… We probably would have ended up bonding, anyway,” Sherlock said to the tiles. “But he… he forced…”

John got up and knelt beside the bath, putting his arms around Sherlock, not caring about getting wet. “Shh, it’s ok.”

“He forced me into a heat,” Sherlock whispered. “And every time I’ve thought about being pregnant, I mean the mechanics of it, I can’t ignore the fact it was his bite that matured my egg. He started her,” he put his hands on his belly. “It makes me feel awful.”

John kissed his mate’s temple. “No, Sherlock. He’s nothing to do with her. She’s half me, and half you. She’s ours. He’s nothing. He’s not part of this.”

“And yet if you’d bitten me first, it wouldn’t be this egg, this foetus,” Sherlock sighed, his voice breaking. “It’s only her because of the moment _he_ bit. I just…” tears started properly, then. “I wish it wasn’t the case…” he cried out then as another contraction hit him, and John didn’t bother timing it, just held him tight, rocking him through it.

“I love you,” John said, when he was sure the pain had lessened. “I love you so much, Sherlock. This…” he put a hand gently on the painful bump, “this is our baby. Yours and mine. No one else’s. We made her. We made her in love, and passion, and belonging. Your mine, and I’m yours. The circumstances were anything but perfect, but no one else has claim to this baby. She’s ours. And I want her. I can’t wait to see her.”

“I don’t think you’ll be waiting too long,” Sherlock groaned. “I need to get out. I need to move around.” He sat up, wincing at his body. “John… I’m worried about it.”

“About birth?”

“About my daughter,” Sherlock sniffed. “I don’t know how to love her, yet.”

“You will,” John said, helping his mate to stand. “I don’t believe in that rush of love mothers are meant to get. It doesn’t make sense. But you will fall in love with her. You’re going to be fantastic at it.”

Sherlock smiled, then gasped in horror.

His knees buckled, and a rush of fluid splattered down onto the bathroom floor, covering his bare legs, and John’s trousers.

“Oh, god!”

“Sherlock, stand up,” John held him as best he could. “It’s ok, it’s just your waters.”

“No!” Sherlock reached down between his legs. “No, it’s not…” he looked at John with genuine terror in his eyes. “John…!”

John stared for a heartbeat, then switched into doctor mode. “Ok, lets rinse you off first,” he switched the shower on. “And then I’ll ring the hospital, and you can decide where you want to –”

“Bedroom,” Sherlock shuddered, his body tensing as John splashed water over him. “John – John, I’m – I’m doing something but I can’t stop it –”

“Let your body push if it wants to,” John said, covering his naked mate with a towel. “Ok, bedroom. Keep breathing, Sherlock, nice and steady.” He let Sherlock crawl down onto the floor, leaning up on the side of the bed, legs spread wide apart as tiny drops of water and slick ran from his entrance.

“Need to…” Sherlock’s eyes were unfocussed – he was giving into his primal omega side to for his own mental protection. He groaned, and then, his back tensed, and John realised he was pushing.

“I need to see,” John realised, dropping down for a look, dignity be damned. Sherlock didn’t make a squeak of protest. John braced himself, and looked. “Oh. Ok.”

“What’s wrong?” Sherlock gasped.

“Nothing’s wrong,” John knelt up. “She’s just got blonde hair. I thought she’d be dark, like you.”

Sherlock laughed weakly. “John…”

John took his phone out and dialled 999.

“Emergency, which service do you require?”

“Ambulance.”

Click. “London Ambulance Service, what’s the emergency?”

“My omega mate is giving birth, and there’s no chance to get to hospital. We need a midwife.”

“Address?”

“221B Baker Street. The doors are open.”

“Thank you. Someone will be with you as soon as possible.”

John hung up, and went back to his mate. “It’s just you and me, lovely. Now, when you get that next pain, you need to push, ok?”

Sherlock nodded, sweat running down his neck. John watched his muscles bunch suddenly.

“Push, Sherlock, hard as you can.”

The omega did so, snarling through gritted teeth, and John watched their baby inch closer to the outside world.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby Watson-Holmes makes her appearance.

 

Sherlock couldn’t think. And for once, he didn’t mind. It was as though he had retreated into some deep part of his brain, where he was watching himself from within, and yet also from the outside. The pain was but an echo as someone, who looked a lot like him, grunted in a most unappealing fashion as they pushed a human out of themselves.

John was there.

John, Sherlock’s mate, had one hand on the omega’s back, the other clamped firmly over his perineum, helping the muscle to push and preventing the skin from tearing as the crown of their baby’s head appeared.

And Sherlock snapped back into his mind in shock.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god…” he tried to fight down the panic that was rising. John moved the hand on his back and went to hold him tight.

“Don’t push now, Sherlock. Just let gravity do its thing. Deep breaths, pant if you need to. But don’t push, my lovely.”

“Want to – need – it hurts – fuck – John – it’s going to – I’m –”

“Shh, my Sherlock,” John kissed his neck, down to his bond bite, taking the scar gently in his teeth for a moment. “No need to push. Just breathe.”

“But it’s coming!”

“Yes, and without any effort. Just breathe…”

Sherlock sobbed, and felt his skin burn with a stretch unlike anything else. There was a moment where he was certain he was going to burst in two, and then the pressure suddenly alleviated. He gasped at the sharpness, and dug his nails into the bed. “OW!”

“It’s ok,” John dropped down to look. “Ok, Sherlock… her head is out. She’s… god, do you want to see?”

“No!”

“I could get you a mirror.”

“No, John,” Sherlock pressed his face into the bedclothes. “Just…”

“Bring your hand down,” John suggested. “You can touch her head.”

“No,” Sherlock shook his own head.

“Ok, then. One last push, and she’ll be born. You ready?”

“Uh-huh…” Sherlock took a great breath as he felt his muscles bunch.

“Now, Sherlock!”

The omega roared in effort he didn’t know he had, feeling the impossible happen as his baby was delivered into John’s hands.

“Stay still,” John quickly passed the baby between Sherlock’s legs, and she immediately began to bawl.

Sherlock reached for her.

John planted the infant on his mate’s chest, the two of them still joined at the cord. Sherlock held her as he’d seen the nurse do – on the bottom, and the back of the head, keeping her hot, damp skin close to his own.

John wrapped a towel around them both, then sat back on the floor, bloody at the hands, sweat soaking through his clothes as he shook from the adrenaline leaving his system.

Sherlock burst into tears, cradling the squawling baby close as she tried to hide from the outside world in her mother’s skin. “Oh… oh, you’re real…”

John grinned. “Of course she’s real.” He crawled closer, tucking the fluffy towel around them both. “God, look at her. Look at you. Look at what you did.” He touched her blood-slick head with a finger.

“She’s all bloody,” Sherlock sniffed.

“Yeah, you’ve got a bit of a tear, love. Nothing major, but she’ll need a wash in a while.”

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, then looked down at his daughter, who was quietening, her tiny hand a pink star on his chest. “She looks like you,” he smiled.

“I thought she’d be the image of you,” John said. “Dark, and everything. Guess I’ve got stronger genes.”

“Or she’s just lucky.” Sherlock shifted, wincing at the sensation of the cord between his legs. “Do I have to wait for a midwife, before…?”

“No, I can get my things,” John kissed him. “One moment.” He stood and went to the door, stopping and looking back at the scene beside the bed. “Sherlock… I love you.”

Sherlock smiled. “We love you, too.”

 

*

 

The midwife arrived fifteen minutes later. Sherlock was about to have his tear sewn up by John, who flapped and got embarrassed when he explained what he was doing, though the midwife was happy to let John continue, and happier than John had saved Sherlock’s placenta in a plastic bowl for her to look at.

“She’s a lovely weight,” the midwife said, handing the apparently 6lb 13oz baby back to Sherlock, who was now in bed. “Congratulations. Does she have a name, yet?”

“Not yet,” Sherlock admitted, starting to put the baby in a clean nappy and sleepsuit.

“Well, she’ll go on my register as Baby Holmes, for now. I’ll come back tomorrow, and see how you’re getting on. Any bleeding that seems gushing, or pains that don’t go with over-the-counter painkillers, call us straight away, ok?”

“Ok,” Sherlock picked the baby up and cuddled her close. “You… you’re not staying?”

“No need,” the midwife smiled. “You’re delivered, and both of you are healthy. You just need to rest, and feed, both of you. It’s been a long day.”

“It’s only lunchtime,” Sherlock rolled his eyes, admitting silently that he was ready to pass out.

John showed the woman out, and then came back, sitting on his side of the bed as Sherlock rested their daughter on his outstretched legs. Her little arms went up beside her head, as though she had been flattened. It was funny.

Sherlock licked his dry lips. “I don’t feel it, yet,” he whispered.

“What’s that?” John stroked the baby’s hand.

“Love.”

John leaned into him, and kissed his cheek. “You will. I saw you after I gave her to you. You clung to her like she was life itself. Like you’d do anything for her, and she was a moment old.”

“I would,” Sherlock said. “But… is that the same? As love?”

“Maybe it’s a start.”

Sherlock nodded, stroking the baby’s soft blonde hair. “She doesn’t have a name.”

“Did you choose one?”

“I want you to choose.”

“You have to pick her middle name, then,” John said. “You don’t get out of it that easily.”

“Alright…”

John considered, looking at their daughter. “I liked a few before she was here, and I think… since she’s so little… Pixie.”

“Pixie?” Sherlock almost mocked, then looked back at the baby. “Pix-ie.”

“Pixie Watson-Holmes?”

“Pixie Rose Watson-Holmes,” Sherlock finalised.

John smiled, leaning up and cupping his mate’s face. “That’s just about perfect, Mummy.”

“Oh no,” Sherlock winced. “Don’t you ever call me that. Daddy.”

John grinned wickedly. “I kindof like that.”

“Uh,” Sherlock wrinkled his nose. “You would.” They beamed at one another for a moment, then kissed at last, kissing away the tiredness and the angst and the worry of the pain of birth.

Until Pixie opened her mouth and squawked like an angry goat.

“We’re being told off,” John said, letting Sherlock pick her up.

“Welcome to the next eighteen years,” Sherlock sighed, pushing his t-shirt up. “Are you going to make me a cup of tea?”

“I suppose I’d better,” John smiled, and kissed his mate once more.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time flies, when you're having fun.

**Three weeks later…**

John let himself into the flat, and listened.

Silence.

A sound so rare and revered, these days, that he stopped in the entrance hall to savour it. Nothing.

He crept up the stairs in his socks, letting himself into the flat and finding it empty. On the coffee table was what Sherlock cheerfully coined _baby paraphernalia_ – wipes, bibs, dummies, muslin squares in scrunched-up bundles. He picked up a couple of used wipes, and dropped them into the bin as he passed, making his way to the bedroom.

The door opened without a squeak, since John had drowned the hinges in WD-40. The room was dark – the curtains were drawn, though it was only early afternoon. And on the bed, the duvet kicked to the footboard out of the way, was Sherlock. And Pixie.

John smiled, and pushed the door open a touch further.

Sherlock was curled onto his side, his body a ‘C’ shape around his daughter, arms encircling her sleeping body without touching her, his face close to hers. His clothes were the same John had left him in that morning, and his hair looked like it needed a comb. Pixie was in a different sleepsuit, and looked immaculate. Her blonde hair was swept to one side, and her rosebud mouth was slightly pursed in sleep. The room smelled of warmth, and milk, and bodies, and it wasn’t at all unpleasant.

Sherlock’s omega-scent had changed again to something that meant ‘bonded mother’, and John couldn’t get enough of it. Pixie had a smooth, cream and peaches scent that meant her head was being constantly sniffed by Sherlock and John. Her preference was to bury her face against her mother’s bond bite, though when she was screaming, a good dose of alpha pheromones calmed her down when John walked her about.

John knew Sherlock worried Pixie would be an omega, from this reaction, but it meant nothing. All children were blank slates, seeking comfort from their parents, no matter anyone’s genders.

He closed the door behind him as he went out, and tidied the living room as quietly as he could.

He was just thinking about how to silently boil water for tea, when Pixie let out a cry.

Sherlock’s moan quickly followed it.

John went back into the bedroom. “It’s ok,” he reached for her. “I can sort her.”

“She needs feeding,” Sherlock sighed, sitting up and pulling his tshirt off, dropping it to the floor. There were pale yellow circles on the front from milk stains. “Going to do that, are you?”

“I’ll make the tea, then,” John said, watching Sherlock roll Pixie onto her side, and laying down beside her as she snuffed about.

“Mm. Ow,” Sherlock said impatiently as his baby clamped down.

John scratched the back of his head. “Did you think any more about… bottles?”

Sherlock closed his eyes. “No. Yes. A bit.”

“You know they want to weigh her again next week?”

“She’s on her centile line,” Sherlock pointed out.

“Yes, but it’s low. And you’re tall, and I’m not exactly a stick. They’ll be worried about her, Sherlock.”

Sherlock winced as Pixie let go and re-latched with enthusiasm. “But this is… this is one thing I can do properly. It's the only thing I do that shows her I love her.”

“It isn’t the only thing,” John said gently. “It’s really not, Sherlock.”

Sherlock went quiet, then. John left him for a moment, and went to boil the kettle. He went back into the room when the tea had brewed, finding Sherlock still shirtless, with Pixie on his chest, trying to get her to raise her head to see him.

“See?” John put the mugs down. “Look at you two.”

Sherlock smiled, and it made John’s heart leap. “She’s getting very good at this. She’s so strong.”

“You are, aren’t you, beautiful?” John smiled at his daughter, who gazed back, bug-eyed.

Sherlock laughed, sitting up, and handing Pixie to John. “Here. Let me drink a hot cup of tea, for once.”

John played with Pixie for a moment, before she discovered her hands, and stared at them with silent fascination.

“I think I could do both,” Sherlock said suddenly. “Feeds-wise, I mean.”

“That’s probably very wise,” John said, trying not to sound too relieved. “You should talk to someone about it.”

“I am, I’m talking to a medical professional.”

“I mean someone who works in paeds,” John chided. Then took Sherlock’s free hand. “Sherlock… I can’t begin to tell you how proud I am of you.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything, just squeezed John’s hand.

“I mean it,” John went on. “I love you so much, and you’re doing such a wonderful job with Pixie… I know this hasn’t been plain sailing, but…” he cupped Sherlock’s face, and pressed their foreheads together. “But, you are perfect. For me, and for her. And forever.”

“That’s the most terribly sickening thing you’ve ever said,” Sherlock scrunched up his nose.

“But you liked it.”

“Shut up.”

John laughed. “I love you, Sherlock.”

“I love you too, idiot.”

“And we’ll all be ok. You know that, right?”

Sherlock nodded. “I suppose.”

“Don’t suppose. You’re too clever to suppose.”

“Alright then… yes. We will. All of us.”

“I knew it,” John smiled, and putting his hand at the back of his mate’s head, closed the space between them for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! The 'How to Court an Omega' series is over. Thank you, one and all, to everyone who has read and supported this series, I love each and every one of you.
> 
> This fic might be over, but my writing will go on! 
> 
> I am also on Tumblr @Laiquilasse.


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